Roses Only
Marianne Moore


You do not seem to realize that beauty is 
a liability rather than
   an asset — that in view of the fact that 
spirit creates form we are
      justified in supposing
      that you must have brains. For you, a 
symbol of the unit, stiff
      and sharp,
   conscious of surpassing by dint of 
native superiority and liking
      for everything
self-dependent, anything an

ambitious civilization might produce: for 
you, unaided, to attempt
      through sheer
   reserve to confute presumptions
resulting from observation is
      idle. You cannot make us
      think you a delightful happen-so. But
rose, if you are brilliant,
      it
   is not because your petals are the
without-which-nothing of pre-
      eminence. You would look, minus
thorns — like a what-is-this, a mere

peculiarity. They are not proof against a
storm, the elements, or 
      mildew
   but what about the predatory hand?
What is brilliance without 
      coordination? Guarding the 
      infinitesimal pieces of your mind,
compelling audience to 
   the remark that it is better to be
forgotten than to be
      remembered too violently,
your thorns are the best part of you.